Dreamer

The coin under the pillow had teeth marks on it, and it was once my fantasy "containment key". Now it only burns late at night, and rolls into convenience stores during the day, with a sound as thin as the slap of reality. The ginkgo leaf was sandwiched in the medical record book, and the "073" between the leaf veins had long been spread out. The chalk dust in class condensed into warning signs, and the notes on the back table shattered the screen - I took them with a smile, hiding my madness in graffiti. The belly of the puppet with severed ears is still stuffed with unmelted "dream core". Passing by a flashing street light, I paused for half a second, then took out my mobile phone to write "Report for repair". The coin becomes smooth on the fingertips, like wiping away the last bit of edges and corners that don't belong to this world. (No golden fingers, no harem, not cool writing)